


A Chance

by Sherlockeddwho_castiel



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Apocalypse, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-22 19:27:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlockeddwho_castiel/pseuds/Sherlockeddwho_castiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The infection had spread like wildfire, no sooner was it announced on the news than half the population had been turned. John, Hamish and Sherlock had been some of the lucky ones. They had gotten out of the city alive and relatively unharmed thanks to Mycroft. Sherlock, however, had to go with Mycroft to help evacuate some other people and, despite John and Sherlock’s protestations, nothing could be done about it and John was left with Hamish. Sherlock had promised to be back, told John that he knew where the safe house was and would find his family again as soon as he could.<br/>That was the thought that kept John going. </p><p>Post Apocalypse AU, the rating will most likely go up as the story continues. There will be fluff, angst, smut, ideally it will make you feel all of the feels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Authors Note:  
> This is my first (posted) fic, the rating will go up as the story moves forwards. I don't have a beta so I've probably made three million mistakes, if you catch one feel free to tell me.

John sat on the bus and frantically tried to calm his crying son, Hamish, as he cradled the six month old in his arms. He'd been moved around from safe house to safe house as the infection grew and more people turned. Everywhere he went he looked for Sherlock, they'd been separated at the beginning, about three months ago, but there was no sign of his husband.  
The infection had spread like wildfire, no sooner was it announced on the news than half the population had been turned. John, Hamish and Sherlock had been some of the lucky ones. They had gotten out of the city alive and relatively unharmed thanks to Mycroft. Sherlock, however, had to go with Mycroft to help evacuate some other people and, despite John and Sherlock’s protestations, nothing could be done about it and John was left with Hamish. Sherlock had promised to be back, told John that he knew where the safe house was and would find his family again as soon as he could. 

That was the thought that had kept John going, the thought that had allowed John to survive thus far. Sherlock would find them, Sherlock would find them and they would be together again, it would all be fine and they could live happily ever after.   
Except they couldn't.   
There would never be a happily ever after for the Watson-Holmes family, nor for any family for that matter. Nobody was safe from the infection. Nobody. Eventually, it would take over and spread and the world would be consumed by it. John wouldn't let himself think of that, it was too depressing and he had to be positive if Hamish was to have any sort of chance.

The bus stopped and pulled up to an old palace on the outskirts of Southern France. It was so far removed from all civilization that it would be safe for at least a little while. Hamish quieted down as John stood and grabbed his small bag, walking off the bus. He ignored the looks of pity he got from the people who lead them off the bus. He was used to it by now, he'd only seen a handful of children during his moving about, he knew that children, the weak and the elderly didn't last long. It was a miracle that Hamish had survived as long as he had and John intended to keep it that way for as long as he could possibly manage. In fact, he had made a promise to himself that, no matter the consequences or circumstances, John would make absolutely certain that he gave his son the best fighting chance he could.

John had kept a journal that he wrote in whenever he couldn't bear it anymore. He wrote it for Hamish, so that if John passed and Sherlock never returned, his son would still have a chance at survival. Inside the journal, John kept track of the places the infection had hit, how quickly the victims died, known symptoms. He catalogued anything and everything that he heard regarding safe houses and ways to counteract and protect yourself from the virus. He wrote about how to survive in emergency situations, basic survival skills, how to use all the weapons John could think of, how to make almost anything into a weapon and how to fight without weapons. John dedicated about twenty pages solely to Sherlock and John. He knew that the likelihood of Hamish growing up with both his parents was slim to none, so John described both of them as best he could. 

He told Hamish about how his parents met, how Sherlock had swept up a boring, broken, invalided army doctor and taken him on the greatest adventure of his life with no more words uttered other than "The name is Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street." John told Hamish of his blog and of all the amazing adventures his father had taken John on, how Sherlock had made Johns life worth living again and how completely and utterly madly in love John had fallen. He told Hamish about Sherlock’s experiments and about the head in the fridge, about that damned purple shirt and the time his father had walked into Buckingham Palace nude but for a bed sheet and then stolen an ash tray just to make John laugh. John told Hamish the story about how Sherlock proposed, creating a case and bringing John along with him only to find that the 'dead body' was actually a ring. John recounted their wedding and where they went on their honeymoon, how excited they had been to ask Harry to be a surrogate in order to bring Hamish into their lives and how much Sherlock and John loved him, no matter what. By the time all this was written, John had cried more times than he cared to admit. Of course, there would be more to add and more useful things to tell Hamish, but John made sure to keep a section devoted to them because his worst fear was that Sherlock and himself would pass and Hamish would never know his parents. 

John was ushered into the safe house and shown to a small room. Inside, there was just enough room for a bed and a cradle as well as a small desk in the corner. John put his bag on the bed and shifted Hamish to his good shoulder, looking around. This was good, it meant that John and Hamish would be alone. John shuddered when he thought of the multiple safe houses they had stayed in where they had been crammed into a room filled with twenty other people. He was pulled out of his thoughts as Hamish started to squirm, trying to stretch in John’s arms. He smiled softly and put the infant on the bed, letting Hamish look around and move as he pleased. John sat in the room and watched, glad that they were still together, at least.   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
After two weeks at the palace safe house, John had found a way to use his skills and was known as the head doctor. He'd even been given a tiny exam room, complete with a small cradle for Hamish to stay in while John checked up on those who had sustained injuries during the 'Apocalypse,' as the epidemic was nicknamed. At the moment, John was kneeling in front of the last patient of that day, a man who'd slipped down the stairs and broken his wrist. He'd just finished setting it and was now bandaging it. He stood just as a knock on the door sounded. John quickly gave the man instructions to keep it elevated for the next couple hours and stood, turning around to see who was at the door. He froze in shock, glad that Hamish was in his cradle because John was sure he would have been dropped.

"Greg?" he asked in disbelief, a wide grin spreading across his face as the former D.I rushed in to embrace John. "Thank God, I didn't think you'd made it." he said, happier than he'd been in days. Lestrade looked terrible, as they all did nowadays, John supposed. He was shocked to see his friend there; he'd never seen another soul he'd recognized before now. He pulled back and found that Lestrade was wearing a grin that much matched his own. 

"John Watson. I'd heard tell of you around but I had to see for myself, make sure you'd actually made it. Thank God, are you alright? And where are…" his voice trailed off as he noticed the distinct lack of a child and a husband. John offered a small smile.

"Hamish is right here, we're both perfectly fine. Sherlock's out there somewhere, he's helping Mycroft with the rescue efforts." John gestured vaguely to the exterior of the palace. Greg smiled as he looked behind John and saw Hamish, but it fell slightly as he heard that Sherlock hadn’t returned. John waved it off though, not in the mood to have that conversation with Greg just yet. From the cradle came a soft whining noise and John went over to pick Hamish up, holding him against his shoulder. “Hamish, do you remember Greg?” he said, gently bouncing the child. Hamish quieted as he was paid attention to and he giggled, holding Johns shirt and looking at the strange man whom his daddy was happy to see. Greg smiled and ruffled the infant’s hair, overjoyed to find that the child had made it so far. John gladly handed his son to Greg while he got the blanket from the cradle and exited the small infirmary. “So do you have a room?”

“Yeah, they just gave me one, I’m down that hall.” Greg said and pointed to the hall next to Johns. He bounced Hamish softly and smiled at the infant. “You’re going to be very strong when you grow up.” He said softly as John opened the door to his room. “Just like your fathers, yeah?” he looked over at John and sighed, knowing that, for John, the worst was yet to come. "John, there's another reason I'm here." he said as he entered the doctors small chamber. "There's been an...opportunity of which I am a part. We found a way to possibly combat the disease and we need a doctor. A good one, one that can take charge in case of a crisis. We've obtained a sample of the infection, though it's...it's not pretty. The subjects are quarantined at a base in Venice. You'll need to come to the base there in order to help. You're our best hope now. Both you and Hamish will be taken care of there, but it's dangerous." Greg said, looking at his friend with a worried but hopeful expression. "So what do you say?"

John thought about what Greg was offering. He wanted to combat the disease, he wanted to end this and if that was the only way he could help, he would gladly do so. He took a breath and prepared himself mentally for the hardships that were sure to come. He didn't bother asking about what would happen if Sherlock came looking for them. John wasn't stupid, he knew that, by now, Sherlock would have no idea where they were. As much as he had tried to tell himself that his family would be together once more, John knew that going with Greg would be the best choice for both his and, more importantly, Hamish's future. John turned around to face Greg. He had transformed from 'John Watson, father and husband' to 'Captain John Watson, Army Doctor' and it showed. "When do we leave?"

"Now."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second chapter, it's from Sherlocks Point of View.   
> I'll not be able to add another for a while, sorry about that!   
> Thanks for reading!

Sherlock sat in the back of the abandoned church, breathing as quietly as he could to avoid bringing attention to himself. He scampered back as he heard people running, voices shouting and echoing through the ancient building. He held his gun up and checked the ammunition-six shots left. It would have to do.

Sherlock’s evacuations had gone fairly well, he’d found about twenty people who were still alive and untouched by the disease. Along the way, though, he’d run into a small ragtag group of survivors who’d become violent. They’d assumed that the disease was part of the government’s plans at overpopulation control and they were planning on overthrowing safe houses until they found the people responsible. This group of survivors had grown as they found people and recruited them to their cause, which meant that a small group of nobodies numbering 7 or 8 was now a fairly sizeable group of angry, determined survivors and fighters numbering at least 25, possibly 30. As a rule, Sherlock tended to try and stay out of their way unless they were a direct threat either to him, his mission or a safe house near his location. At the moment, the latter was what worried him. The group of anarchists had discovered the location of a safe house in Southern France, the very safe house that John was supposedly in, and was staging an attack. Or, they would be staging an attack had they not crossed paths with Sherlock Holmes.

The ex consulting detective stood carefully, making sure not to create any sound that could give his position away. He had been on his way home, finally, and he was unbearably close to seeing his husband and child again. There was just one last thing he had to do first. 

Sherlock quietly slunk around to the back of the church, gun in hand and eyes darting around for signs of life. He knew the group was still here, he could hear the noise echoing around the massive cathedral dome but he couldn’t see anything. He froze and spun around, certain that he’d seen something in the corner of his eye. He heard a snicker and raised his gun, expecting to see a figure clothed in black. All he saw was darkness.

Another scuttle to his left, he spun around. He knew they were aware of his position but he stayed still anyways, hoping to catch them off guard. All of a sudden, there was a loud bang and a crash. Sherlock looked around frantically for the source but he could only see shadows. Another crash, this time on the opposite side of the cathedral. Sherlock heard the sound echoing through the otherwise silent cathedral. When the noise had stopped, the only sound remaining in the ancient stone building was a quiet cracking noise and the sound of small rocks falling. Sherlock put the pieces together quickly and his eyes widened as he turned on his heel as ran towards the entrance. The large cathedral was falling down; the group had managed to trap Sherlock inside as it happened. Sherlock raced towards the entrance as large stones began to fall. He had just reached the door when the dome collapsed, the force of the air escaping the church forcing Sherlock through the door and blowing him into the yard and forcing him onto the grass. Sherlock covered his head and squeezed his eyes shut as the cathedral collapsed inwards just behind him. He held his breath as he felt the wind rip at his hair and his clothing, small pieces of rocks flying at him. 

The air soon settled and Sherlock looked up, coughing as he inhaled the dust filled air. He eventually struggled to his knees and looked around. He was alone, no sign of the group ever being there, surrounded by the rubble of a collapsed cathedral. He shook his head in shock, amazed that he could have been so thick as to get himself trapped by a group of anarchists. He pushed himself to his feet, thanking his guardian angel that Sherlock hadn’t been crushed by one of the massive pieces of stone. He stumbled in the direction his car was, incredibly glad that he’d had the foresight to leave it quite a ways away from the building. 

As he climbed into the car, Sherlock turned on his radio and quickly told the two other men and three other women who were working with him that the group had ambushed him and dropped a cathedral on him, or attempted to anyways, and that he was on his way to find his husband and hopefully stop the group before they attacked the safe house. One of the woman helping him, Joelle, promised to cover for him until he got back and said that both Mark and Tyler (the other two men helping Sherlock) were around the area watching for signs of trouble. 

Sherlock thanked Joelle and hung up as he drove through the countryside, staying as alert and aware of his surroundings as possible lest the group staged another attack or Sherlock accidentally missed the safe house. As he drove, he focused on the destination and how he would help the safe house rather than how he would help John and Hamish because, if there was one thing that Sherlock had realized during the past few months, it was that nothing is untouchable. Everything can break, can wither away and die, can be forgotten in the blink of an eye. Especially children. Sherlock had yet to see a child who wasn’t dead, dying or hopeless in the time he’d been helping evacuations and, as much as he hated to admit it, he was terrified. Every night, he dreamt that the man he’d seen dying in the streets was John, that the child dead in the cradle was Hamish. He couldn’t stop the nightmares from coming, couldn’t stop seeing John and Hamish on every corner, in every safe house, on the face of every lost or sick man. 

As Sherlock pulled up to the thankfully still intact safe house, he was praying to whoever was listening that his family had made it, that they were waiting for him like Sherlock had asked them to. There was no acceptable alternative, John and Hamish were just beyond the doors of the palace, of course they were. They had to be.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more quick chapter before I go, I'll try to update again but it might be a while. Sorry!

John packed as quickly as he could, which wasn’t difficult when his belongings all fit into a backpack with room to spare. His possessions included one change of shirt and another pair of pants, his Browning, bullets, a knife, the journal and a couple pencils, a couple basic medical supplies, a blanket, bottle for Hamish, baby formula, water, a scarf and a picture of himself, Sherlock and Hamish. His main concern was the small amount of baby formula he had left, of which he made certain was packed away tightly. He shook his head as he saw that they only had enough for about four days, hoping that there would be enough to make it to the safe house and that there would be some there. It was still too soon to introduce Hamish to real food, though that’s what it looked like would have to happen if the child was to survive. John stood with his backpack on and scooped Hamish into his arms, facing Greg. Without a word, they left the room and walked towards the entrance of the palace. 

“John!” A voice called from down the hall causing the doctor to spin around. A petite brunette woman was racing down the hall towards him carrying a small bag. She reached the two men and opened it, giving John a look at the contents. There was a box of painkillers, some Band-Aids, gauze, tampons and duct tape. John smiled gratefully and took the small bag from the woman who told them to keep it and use it sparingly before she thanked John for all he’d done, smiled at Hamish and left. John shoved the small bag into his own and turned back around, following Greg to a cleverly concealed car.

“It’s heavily armored, there are weapons and ammunition in the back as well as emergency medical supplies and food.” Greg told him, unlocking the car and opening the passenger door for John, who had his hands full. They both climbed into the car and Lestrade began to drive, watching through the mirror as the palace safe house retreated into the background. Hamish began to whimper as the car moved and John tried his best to calm him, knowing how his son hated cars. Greg made light conversation, asking John about how they’ve been faring and where he’s been. A car drove past them, but John was too preoccupied with Hamish to notice. 

 

The car pulled up to the place Hamish and John would be staying for an undetermined amount of time. Greg parked the car and John got out, carrying a sleeping Hamish in his arms and trying to be as silent as he could. Greg grabbed the supplies in the back and patted John on the back as he walked to the entrance, punching in the code and standing back as the door opened to show a man and woman pointing guns at them. Lestrade waved them away and the man came over to pat John down and check his bag before letting them through. John walked into the safe house, more of a fortress, actually, and looked around. There were men and women in lab coats and army gear rushing around, a couple of civilians that looked rather lost and a few other people milling about. 

John walked through the halls as John led them to the room they would be staying in for a while. The room was large. There was a large bed in the middle and a proper crib beside it. John smiled and turned to Greg. “This is amazing, mate.” He exclaimed with a grin. Greg nodded and grinned back.  
“You’ve got everything you need here, clothing, a lab coat, water, food, milk, blankets, everything. It’s the best facility in the world, as far as we can tell.” Greg said proudly. “You’re both welcome to stay here as long as you like, providing that you help try to find a cure for the infection, of course.” 

“Of course, yeah I’ll do what I can to help.” John replied quietly, setting Hamish on the bed gently. “Where are you staying?” he asked and started to unpack their things. 

“Just down the hall. I can show you around if you like. Oh, and there aren’t any other people in the rooms around you so if he wakes and decides to have a bit of a cry, you needn’t worry about waking anyone but yourself.” Greg motioned to Hamish and smirked. John rolled his eyes good-naturedly and finished unpacking their stuff. Greg went over to Hamish and sat down, gently picking up the infant. “He’s beautiful. I hadn’t seen him until today.” 

John came and sat beside them, smiling. “Yeah, he’s amazing. It’s too bad this happened.” John said quietly, motioning around him. “But he’ll be a fighter. I know it. He’ll make it.” John said as Hamish woke with a stretch and opened his eyes, looking up at Greg. “He’ll make it.” John repeated quietly, sighing. “He’ll make it.”


End file.
